Chemmani lies beneath the earth,
carrying the names of the lost.
Voices of families became questions:
will our children's justice prevail?
A school bag left the child's back,
A shoe ripped off their foot.
Bottles of milk spilled,
bodies covered soil and dirt.
Our children taken from us,
Mothers, fathers, grandparents.
Our love for our loved ones,
taken away from us in a second.
Justice for Chemmani,
justice for our children.
Yet the question still remains:
will our children's justice prevail?
A man seen as either friend or foe,
Which path to take, which to go.
His name strikes fear into an enemy heart,
Where spilled blood can be turned into art.
His long, black moustache holds something strong,
Where his people never thought of him as wrong.
No gun, no knife fears him inside or out,
As the forest makes no whisper or shout.
A voice against powers of uniform,
A man's figure of rebelling transform.
Bird or beast, lost in the feast,
Of power, fear, and a power that never ceased.
A man seen as either friend or foe,
Which path to take, which to go.
Fell at last, with no where hide,
As his gun had its last ride.
Appa, your hands covered in hard work,
Even when life feels of murk.
His love of us is infinite even when life get tough,
Working evey day, giving us enough.
A man, who was once a boy of war,
He faced what his country outside the door.
Me and my brothers see him as a saviour,
Guiding with strength and good behaviour.
Even when the world seemed blind,
His care was always right behind.
Through every storm and every scare,
I know he’s always there to share.
My Appa gives my heart a piece of peace,
A love that makes all troubles cease.
With the heart of a brave tiger,
He lifts me up, a guiding rider.
Strong and brave like Muruga,
His life unfolds like an epic saga.
With courage like Shiva, my guide and achiever,
My Appa stands strong, a true believer.
My Appa, my guide, my strength and light,
Like a raja, he stands brave in every fight.
Through every storm, my Appa leads the way,
His love and care never go astray.
Hospital's structure turned into dust,
Cracks, blood, chaos, memory's rust.
Children, parents, elderly helpless,
Patients gone and breathless.
Bomb blast consumed everything in its path,
The patients and doctors dead by world - wrecking wrath.
Tears that turned into ash, fire and blood,
No fire could be extinguished by a flood.
Bombs came in one after another,
No one had something to shield or cover.
Blood spills, eyes closing, tears from families,
Too many innocents turned casualties.
"No Fire Zone", papers stated,
Lives of tamils were bound to be fated.
Search of family members through smoke and tears,
This memory will never be forgotten for years.
A memory that hits us hard and unforgotten,
Families of the casualties had fears begotten.
2nd of May did not fade within time,
The bell cries as it does its last chime.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
A woman who symbolises burning morality,
Her husband executed in blood thirsty brutality.
A will of a tamil wife that could not be broken,
Flames and fire in Madurai had spoken.
A will of a tamil woman that could not be broken,
The choice of accusation over truth has woken.
A tear that shed red, honest blood,
No fire nor flame could be extinguished by a flood.
A virtue of a tamil heroine, which boils,
Her husband ashes buried beneath the soils.
Kannagi, the tamil woman of truth and balance,
The torch in her hand burned the Madurai palace.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
Beneath the dusk-lit sky, the Karthigai flower trembles,
its petals catching firelight like whispered courage—
born from the quiet earth yet rising, rising,
as though it remembers every ancestor
who refused to break, even when the wind screamed.
There is a strength in its softness, a fierce kind of bloom,
the kind that grows after storms have torn the world open.
It stands alone but never lonely,
carrying the weight of forgotten prayers,
burning with a tenderness too bright to hide.
And when night deepens, the flower does not close—
it keeps its vigil, glowing like an ember,
a promise made in silence, trembling yet unbroken,
as though it is waiting for something…
someone…
A flower that holds history and legacy,
Petals sing like a flowing melody.
Karthigai blooms fragrance in the air,
It's beauty, it's worth to stare.
A sacred flame, where it rises with gentle grace,
A reminder that shining light has place.
Karthigai, small yet grand,
You shine like stars upon the land.
From ancient lands of Tamil lore,
It's presence marks tradition's core.
Karthigai, ruby red and golden hue,
The dance of light in every view.
A banner that's lifts in the heavenly sky,
It's colours bold, its meaning shy.
The symbol of a beast of gold and black,
The beast significance shows knack.
The red flag shows the blood and boiling flame,
As it the flag flies, it would remain the same.
Banner holds wisdom, power and history,
History behind it shows glory and story.
It whispers the culture bold and proud,
The flag which had been vowed.
No roar remains, yet still it calls,
Through silent halls and memory's walls.
It rises from lands carved by ancient hands,
Where legends walked and shaped the sands.
In every thread, the echoes stay—
Of warriors lost, of children’s play,
Of all who dreamed in brighter clay.
Its colours blaze with a fierce, calm fire,
Born from struggle, grief, and tireless desire.
Within its emblem, stories gleam—
Of mothers’ prayers and rivers’ stream,
Of hopes protected in a sacred dream.
Let it ascend where the brave ones stood,
A mark of courage etched in wood and blood.
More than a banner—it is a soul,
A gathered heartbeat made whole;
A guiding light no night can dull.
A mother stands with a trembling hand,
Lighting a lamp for her vanished land.
Her eyes reflect the years that gone by,
Of battles fought of children's cry.
Before her, pink petals softly fall,
Each one a name - she knows them well.
The years have passed, but she still sees,
Her child beneath those crimson trees.
No flag, no song can ease her pain,
Yet pride and sorrow can weave the same.
For in her heart, she knows too well,
The story that no words can tell.
Around her now, scorching torches rise,
Their golden smoke ascends the skies.
People scarred, yet unbroken still,
Their memory stronger than a brick wall.
And as the glistening moon starts to gleam,
She whispers softly like a soothing dream.
"MY child, your path paved in flame,
But freedom bears your sacred name."
On November 27, the singeing candles glow,
A silent vow the hearts we all know.
The fallen rest, Yet never fade,
For their courage, nations are made.
During war of gunfire and fear,
When the sky made the rain drops into tears.
Our Tamil mothers and sisters stirred the pot with quiet and trembling hands,
Kanji simmered - soft, thin and proud.
No feast of spice, no spice of pure joy,
Just rice and water, salt and a pure pain.
Yet in that round bowl, a pulse of one nation,
Beat gently through hunger and rain.
A scent of rice, the sound of rain,
A powerful prayer whispered through black night.
That one more dawn might be kind,
The one more meal might hold them tight.
Mothers waited by broken walls,
Fathers searched through dust, ash and flames.
Children sipped from rusted tins,
Too young to understand the pain and suffering.
When the war turned into dust,
Silence took the soldier’s roar.
Kanji remained - a taste of memory ,
Of the hearts that starved, yet asked no more.
A hero born in Jaffna, where palm trees swayed,
His patriotic figure stood unafraid.
Books in one hand, dreams in his eyes,
He turned into the truth beneath the shady sky.
They called him Thileepan, but born as Rasaiah Parthipan,
He heard fear in his people's cries.
No bread he took, no drop, no grain,
Only his strong will, steadfast, humane.
Days become silent whispers, just pin drop silence,
The air was silenced, its like something kept its mouth shut.
Children watched, elders wept,
Jaffna soil the vigils kept.
12 days, 12 nights he starved,
His body felt ill, like a virus entered his body.
He wanted freedom, justice and identity,
For his people... the Tamils.
The way that the years have passed,
His story was heard from all places.
Not all martyrs, heroes can wield a blade,
Some burn as light cannot fade.
We are the storm the world denied,
The fire that history that couldn't hide.
From broken homes, to stolen lands,
We rise with heavy iron in our hands.
No ruler’s crown, no soldier’s gun,
Can dim the light of what’s begun.
Through exile’s night, through prison’s bars,
We carry Eelam in our scars.
We are not ashes—we are the furious flame,
We speak our truth, we name our name.
The youth of Eelam, fierce and free,
Will fight until our people see.
O youth of Eelam, fierce, untamed,
We guard the truth, we bear the flame,
Against all odds, we rise, we fight,
For justice, freedom, and our right.
In the shadowed dawn of distant days,
Where echoes whispered of lost ways,
There stood a name, etched deep in lore,
Captain Miller, amidst the roar.
A soldier forged from fire and flame,
Bound to cause, beyond mere name,
With eyes that held grief and pride,
For lands and lives, for those who died.
Steel and sorrow marked his path,
Through broken fields, through aftermath.
A journey weighed with hope and cost,
In battles won, in voices lost.
But history paints with shades of gray,
Heroes, villains blurred by day.
To some, a fighter fierce and strong,
To some, echoes of what went wrong.
Yet beyond the banners, blood and strife,
Lies a tale of fleeting life.
Of choices made, of hearts grown still,
Of dreams that surged against the will.
So let the story rise and fall,
In silent woods, through every call.
For Vallipuram Vasanthan's name still remains,
A thread within war's vast domains.
Beneath the sun's eternal flame,
A dynasty rose to eternal fame.
The Cholas ruled with might and grace,
Their legacy carved in time's embrace.
Kaveri's waters sang their song,
Of rulers just, and armies strong.
Temple carved with sacred art,
A culture vast, a noble heart.
From Rajraja's mighty reign,
To Rajendra's seas where power gained.
Their ships sailed forth, the oceans bowed,
To the Chola's might, the world avowed.
Their temples stood with granite stone,
A testament to what they'd known.
Through divine halls, their glory shone,
Their culture carved, their power grown.
In the books of history, Cholas are bold and proud,
As their reign stood tall above the crowd.
Through bloody battles and warriors stout,
The Chola's names are what the warriors shout.
Their heritage, a timeless flow,
In Kaveri's depths, the tales still glow.
A dynasty whose strength did grow,
The Chola's legacy, we know.
,
Beneath the trees, a tale of a Tamil revolutionary,
As in history of tamils, the people viewed him as a legendary luminary.
'Thalaivar' the title he was given,
As his reputation was on a different level, when he was living.
Through fields of war, he engraved his name,
In a country torn by sorrow and pain.
As a sense of anger boiled in his heart,
He promised to never to be ripped apart.
Through endless killings and bloody battles,
He hunts the enemy like a tiger hunting cattle.
The roar of the tigers, the singeing flames of war,
As the tigers are ready to slice the enemy's jaw.
A dream of Tamil land to rise,
But at what cost, beneath the skies?
A price of peace, hope of salvation,
As soldiers have to sacrifice for his country's liberation?
A man of vision, of war, of pride,
Yet history judges all who stride.
A leader to some, a foe to others,
A paradox bound in the land of mothers.
As time moves on, the country's wounds and scars still abide,
His name reaches through the skies, far and wide.
Velupillai, the true Tamil warrior,
As his name rises through the ranks, of a true hero.
In the jungle's heart, where shadows and spirits blend,
A silent hunter, a forest's friend.
Stripes of amber, black and gold,
The tale of power, courage and bold.
Its eyes burn bright, flaming hue,
Reflecting the skies of cerulean blue.
Its claws are like a silver, steel sword,
As it rules the jungle as its legendary lord.
Its roar splits heaven and hell,
As earthquakes and tsunamis are caused by a shattering yell.
Hunters poach them for their magnificent, golden robes,
As its lengthy tail is like a serpent coiling the globe.
It lives among the jungles, sand, wetlands and snow,
During the dark, its orange, blazing eyes begin to glow.
Deers, birds and boars is a king's delightful feast,
As the enemy feared this bloodthirsty beast.
The speed of the beast is beyond the stars,
As its back is full of lacquer, black scars.
The beast itself ruled Lanka with Tamil kings,
The sabre-like fangs and crushing claws blings.
Oh Tiger, the guardian of the land,
Let Lord Murugan feel you with his divine hand.
Let Lakshmi shower you with wealth, fortune and prosperity,
As the beast speaks to the people in a tone of sincerity.
Tamil Categories
Definition | What is Tamil in Poetry?
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